


Bae Watch

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lifeguards, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 05:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10298840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: Sansa finds an unexpected distraction during her summer at the pool





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliceInNeverNeverLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInNeverNeverLand/gifts).



The final tumblr fic I'm moving to ao3 for tonight. Just some summertime fluff by the pool. :)

**Bae Watch**

Sansa slips from her perch on the high-platformed lifeguard chair, her sandals slapping against the pool deck. Wylla Manderly takes her place, climbing the ladder rungs on stiff legs.

Wylla’s expression is mostly hidden by a large pair of aviators perched low on her nose, but Sansa can’t help noticing her face is almost the color of her hair, the white blonde strands tinged slightly green from too much exposure to the chlorine they dump in the pool.

“Rough night?” Sansa teases. Wylla runs with the same crowd as Theon and the Tallhart boys. Sansa’s heard enough to know last night’s party most likely ended only a handful of hours ago.

Wylla grumbles a reply, settling in to watch over the handful of swimmers doing laps in the deep end.

Sansa gives a parting wave over her shoulder and makes for the lifeguard house. There’s still thirty minutes before she’s on shift again. Plenty of time for a bad cup of coffee from the kitchen.

She fixes herself a cup (mostly cream with three sugars) and heads outside. There’s an old deck chair someone has dragged just outside of the office doors that Sansa has come to think of as hers on these early mornings.

As she moves to sit, a breeze blows across the pool deck. It is early still, not quite past eight, and for all that it’s the middle of July, there is a snap in the air.

Sansa balls her hands under the frayed cuffs of the too large sweatshirt she wears over her swimsuit. It had been Robb’s from when he was a lifeguard over summer breaks. Sansa poached it from a stack of his laundry the last time he was home. It seemed only fair.

It’s Robb’s fault she’s here. Somehow he’d taken Sansa’s decision to not stay in King’s Landing for the summer as permission to put forth her name to Dacey Mormont for a job. Robb is always doing that. Trying to fix things. Sansa will never admit it, but she’s grateful.

It’s a good job and Dacey is a fair boss, though she’d looked at Sansa like she was half-crazy when she volunteered for nearly every opening shift this month. Most of the staff are students who are loathe to wake up any earlier than noon.

But Sansa has come to love these early mornings by the pool. She’s always been an early riser and she likes the quiet of it. The peacefulness of the place before it becomes a stew of mothers and nannies and children trying to find a momentary escape from the heat.

Sansa stretches out on the deck chair, kicking off her sandals.

It’s strange to think that only a year ago she was sunbathing with Margaery, sipping raspberry lemonades they’d snuck in from the clubhouse, and making eyes at the new tennis pro. The Winter Town Community Pool is a far cry from the King’s Landing Country Club but Sansa is oddly more content sitting on this lumpy excuse for a deck chair and cradling a paper cup of crummy coffee than she ever was in the south.

Kings Landing is another big reason she’s come to prefer the early shift. There’s less of a risk of running into one of her mother’s friends or some nosey neighbor eager to pepper her with well-meaning questions about school. About Joff.

Sansa has no regrets when it comes to ending things with Joffrey, but she still hasn’t managed to tell anyone the whole of it. Not even Jeyne. If she can hardly stomach telling her parents the truth, she’s definitely not prepared to dodge questions from near strangers.

A sudden cry of small voices carries over from the far end of the pool, jarring Sansa from her thoughts.

_8:15. The six-and-under swim class._

Sansa smiles behind the rim of her of her cup as they come into view, marching in a raucous little line. She spots Rickon easily among their numbers. Tufts of his red-orange hair stick out at all angles around the strap of his goggles and his arms and legs are so covered in freckles it’s practically become a tan. She hopes Osha, his sitter, remembered the sunscreen this time.

Her eyes don’t linger on her little brother for long. Instead they flit to the figure at the head of the line. Jon.

_Yet another reason to like the morning shift_ , a traitorous voice echoes in her head.

Sansa stomach gives an embarrassing sort of swoop.

It’s stupid really. She’s known Jon as long as she’s known just about anyone. From the moment Robb brought him home for a playdate when they were little, Jon has always just sort of been there. Running around with her siblings. Sitting at their dinner table. Budging into family events.

Sansa’s never paid much attention. Jon was just another piece of the scenery. An unobtrusive interloper on their family. Easily ignored.

She’s paying attention now.

Jon’s filled out from lanky boy she remembers from high school. Sansa cannot help but admire the new breadth to his shoulders, and blushes when her eyes wander further down the planes of his chest.

She watches as he and his class make their way closer to the pool’s edge. They’re playing some sort of game, each child flapping their arms and making little quack noises. Jon quacks along them with them, waving his arms in ridiculous circles at his side. The mother duck it would seem.

Eventually, Jon manages to coax his rowdy band of kindergarteners into the shallow end. A few of the more timid ones still cling to the pool’s edge, eyeing Jon warily as he demonstrates how to float on his back.

Sansa smiles, remembering how her Uncle Edmure had done the same when he first taught her to swim when she and Arya were small.

Next, Jon has them lowering their faces to the water’s surface, blowing bubbles and acclimating themselves with having their faces under the water. Without much warning Jon submerges his head fully before rising out of the water with a growl. He shakes out his wet curls like a dog and the children shriek with giggles, dodging out of the spray and splashing back.

Sansa’s cheeks hurt from grinning.

He’s good with them. Of course, she knew that already. She’s had years of seeing how patient Jon is with Arya and Bran and Rickon.

But that’s not all of it.

He’s been named the youth swim team’s ‘Coach of the Year’ three years running. Sansa’s seen the placard next to the staff bulletin board, his name etched under past winners on the brass plate, a photo of Jon looking sheepish but pleased, surrounded by three dozen young swimmers taped alongside the plaque.

“The twelve-and-under girls are all half in love with him,” Val teased once, showing Sansa a drawing one of the younger Mormont girls had left at the guard house for Jon.

Sansa can hardly blame them. Jon doesn’t quite fit the bill for twelve-year-old Sansa’s Ken doll ideal, but she’s sure she would have been just as smitten with him as the rest.

She _is_ just as smitten with him.

It’s impulsive, but before her next shift Sansa ducks into the kitchen and makes a second cup coffee. Using a Sharpie from Dacey’s desk, she carefully writes 'Jon’ across the side cup. She hesitates a second, tempted to add a heart, but that’s perhaps a little too junior high, so she leaves it be.

_It’s just a nice gesture_ , she tells herself as she makes her way to her post by the diving boards. _I’d do the same for Wylla or Cley. There’s nothing in it._

She nearly has herself convinced by the time she’s at her locker, gathering her things to leave, when a voice sounds from the doorway.

“Thanks,” Jon says. He’s leaning on the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “For the coffee, I mean.”

He’s thrown on a tshirt (what a pity) and a pair of dark framed glasses. His wet hair’s been gathered away from his face.

Sansa never thought she’d be the type to swoon over a manbun and a bit scruff, yet here she is, blushing like a fool and scarcely able to look Jon in the eye.

“S'nothing,” Sansa murmurs pretending to look for something in her bag.

“It was nice of you,” Jon insists, shoulders shrugging.

_You’re nice_ , Sansa thinks. After Joffrey, Sansa could do with a little more nice.

Sansa finally forces herself to look at Jon. Her heart skips a beat at the dorky half-smile he shoots her way.

“Anytime.” She smiles back, hoping she sounds more confident than she feels.

The next morning Sansa comes off of her first shift in the chair to find a cup of coffee waiting in the staff kitchen. There’s a hastily scribbled 'Sansa’ on the side of the cup.

She takes it with her to her deck chair in front of the office, feeling warm all over.

She scans the deck finally spotting where Jon has gathered his little class. He meets her eye for a moment and waves. Sansa’s face burns but she lifts the cup in an awkward little salute of thanks.

She really hopes people mistake her fierce blush for too much time in the sun.


End file.
